Gina and I never talked about the business with Martin
She never asked
I never volunteered any details
She knows what I am capable of
What I do when necessary
We went about our lives without talking about Martin
And Martin never came around or called again
The dadmobile was visibly absent
Goodnight to all that.
But where do we go from here?
I'm wondering if I'm going to be part of her life
Included in family-like activities, not just hired muscle
I want to be included
I'll sleep on your couch tonight
If I can end up in your bed tomorrow?
I do have a strong physical attraction
Do you feel the same?
Gina was hard to read
Some days she wanted me around
She almost begged me to stay over
On other days I was invisible
The week I had out-of-town business
She blew up my phone
I miss you
Where are you
So I said, "I don't know, Gina, where are we?"
Her response: "What do you mean?"
I told her, some days I feel like your boyfriend other days
Not so much
Johnny, you saved me, I need you around will you be home
Soon
Tomorrow night, babe
Can't wait sweetheart
About the Creator
David Parham
Writer, Filmmaker, Digital artist.
The ever Changing Complexities of Life, Fear, Mysteries and Capturing that which may not be there Tomorrow.
Complex, Change, Fear, Mystery, Tomorrow & Capture. Six reasons I write.
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Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley7 days ago in Fiction
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